Quotes About April

April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

Every April, God rewrites the Book of Genesis.

Arizona's forest fires are not waiting for April, and neither will we. That is why I am pushing for stepped up deployment for Hot Shot wildfire crews in March rather than April, in order to better prepare for the expected fires in northern Arizona.

In April 2013, Nathaniel Popper of 'The New York Times' reported on Bitcoin in an article titled, 'Digital Money is Gaining Champions in the Real World'.

On April 12 lighted tapers were put to the touchholes of the sultan's guns along a four-mile sector, and the world's first concerted artillery bombardment exploded into life.

In silvergreen rainy April they went down to Glastonbury on the long straight roads ...

Triumphant hours are the Lark's Who circles skywards from his home each day: World's early riser, with bubbling golden song, Towards the firmament, guardian of April's gate.

Every art that could inflame the passions and touch the interests of men has been essayed," Washington complained in early April 1788.

Thanks to her having kept a diary even as a teenager, Mary was able to give the exact date of her arrival in Hollywood: April 19, 1923, two weeks before her seventeenth birthday.

One April afternoon, right after lunch, my husband announced that he wanted to leave me.

Pregunté a la tarde de abril que moría: ¿Al fin la alegría se acerca a mi casa? La tarde de abril sonrió: La alegría pasó por tu puerta —y luego, sombría: Pasó por tu puerta. Dos veces no pasa.

You're not inhabiting the form anymore. Not too quick are you?" he said looking me in the eye.

What?" He was frowning now. "No bathing suit? Are you sure you're not a nun?" "Some nuns swim.

April splinters like an ice palace.

Somehow the bright beauty had gone from April afternoon and from her heart as well and the sad sweetness of remembering was as bitter as gall.

1.   Passover, April 15, 2014        2.   Feast of Tabernacles, October 8, 2014        3.   Passover, April 4, 2015        4.   Feast of Tabernacles, September 28, 2015

O Cisne Foi em abril, eu me lembro, embora em meu espírito fosse dezembro, Que um pássaro ferido foi retirado da escuridão do lago, As penas brancas brilharam ao sol, e de sua boca escorreu a água negra, Enquanto por dentro minha voz gritava até pensar que meu coração iria se partir; Fui eu quem assistiu à sua morte, seguindo à deriva, à deriva, esperando em sua vigília Que Deus levasse sua alma.

The Swan It was April, I remember, though my spirit was December, When a broken bird was lifted from the darkness of the lake, In the sun white feathers gleaming, from her mouth black water streaming, While within my voice was screaming until I thought my heart would break; It was I who watched her dying, drifting, drifting, waiting in her wake For God her soul to take.

There's a gentleness about April that made me ache. It seemed like I was always on the run, always working and chasing some goal or another, but April had a way of holding me still. And then I'd begin to hurt and yearn for something I couldn't describe, something I hadn't known yet. All I knew was the ache itself and the strange, sweet feeling it was.

Did Wilson suffer a stroke on that day in late April? The evidence strongly suggests he did. It may not have been severe enough to render him unable to attend meetings or to cause him to withdraw from public settings, but that he was physically and mentally a different man after the date seems indisputable. If it was a stroke, it would leave him impaired just when he most needed his strength.

There is one strange irony that I haven't told you. One April afternoon, three weeks before she died, Gilda walked up to me in our living room and said, "I have a title for you, 'Kiss Me Like a Stranger' . . . maybe you can use it some day." I had no idea why she said it or what the title meant; I just thanked her.

When that Aprille with his shoures sote. The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour, Of which vertue engendred is the flour.

When I am dead and over me bright April Shakes out her rain-drenched hair, Though you should lean above me broken-hearted, I shall not care.

When April bends above me And finds me fast asleep, Dust need not keep the secret A live heart died to keep. When April tells the thrushes, The meadow-larks will know, And pipe the three words lightly To all the wind that blow. Above his roof the swallows, In notes like far-blown rain, Will tell the chirping sparrow Beside his window-pane. O sparrow, little sparrow, When I am fast asleep, Then tell my love the secret That I have died to keep.